


Ever Since

by fits_in_frames



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nathan comes home for the last time, Peter's on his senior trip in Florida.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever Since

**Author's Note:**

> _ever since your fingertips_  
>  _ever since your eyes_  
>  _talking with the light on_  
>  _bluer skies_  
>  _even if i wanted to_  
>  _how could i explain_  
>  _coming through my head now_  
>  _this tidal wave_  
>  {david gray // tidal wave}  
> 
> 
> Mentions of underaged incestuous thoughts.

When Nathan comes home for the last time, Peter's on his senior trip in Florida.

Heidi picks him up at JFK, alone. "He wanted to be here," she says, casually, as she backs out of the parking space, "but he'd already paid for the trip, and your mom wouldn't let him back out. I'm sure he's having lots of fun with his friends. I mean, he's eighteen, right?"

He only nods absently and fingers at the lapels of his uniform, brushing away invisible dust.

They're stuck in traffic a few minutes later (that's what he gets, Mom says later in the evening, for coming in at rush hour on a Friday) and she looks over at him, smiling, rests a hand on his knee. "It's really good to see you, honey."

He leans over and kisses her cheek. "You wanna get married?" he asks without sitting up straight again.

"W--what?" she sputters.

"I mean," he says, shifting in his seat, "I could get the ring and take you to a bridge or something and be a gentleman, but I'm not gonna go through all that unless you really want to." He smiles up at her.

She scrunches her face at him. "You get me a ring, and then I'll give you my official answer." She kisses his nose and whispers, "Which will be yes."

He kisses her again, and then traffic starts moving again, so he leans his seat back and dozes off, and he almost forgets his disappointment.

*

Peter comes home on Sunday, but Nathan's out ring shopping with Heidi. By the time they get back, he's all holed up in his room again.

"He's doing homework," Mom says when Nathan eyes the trail of plastic bags and faint, watery footprints as they walk in the door.

"Already? The boy just got home!" Heidi takes off her coat and sits next to her future mother-in-law, clutching a little velvet bag in her hand. She nods at Nathan, and he knows he won't be needed any time soon, so he walks up the stairs, towards Peter's room. The door is open but he knocks anyway.

"Mom, I told you to go away," Peter snarls in a too-deep voice without turning around. He's hunched over something on his bed, ignoring the bags and clothes strewn on the floor.

Nathan almost laughs, but instead he says, calmly, "Hi Pete."

Peter swivels his head around, eyes wide, and nearly falls off the bed. "Nathan?"

He leans against the doorframe and shrugs. "In the flesh."

Peter stands up. He's grown taller and filled out quite a bit since the last time Nathan saw him, nearly a year ago. His hair has streaks of dark red in it that wouldn't be noticeable, except that, even after all this time, Nathan knows Peter like the insides of his own eyelids. He hasn't realized how much he's missed his little brother until Peter practically walks straight into him, and he's hit with the smell of fabric softener and old books--the smell of _Peter_.

Peter squeezes his ribcage and buries his nose in Nathan's shoulder. "I missed you," he says.

"Yeah," Nathan says, wrapping his arms around Peter. "I missed you, too."

Peter breaks the hug, tucks his hair behind his ears, sits down. Nathan joins him, picks up the book between them on the bed.

" _Romeo and Juliet_?" he asks, looking at the cover, then flipping through, noting all the red and blue and black and green marks on the pages.

"Yeah," Peter says. "For school. I'm playing Benvolio in class next week."

"Cool," Nathan says, placing the book behind Peter's back and slinging an arm around his shoulders. They stay like that, leaning into each other, while they talk about nothing (mostly the Yankees) for a long while. Peter absently draws little patterns on Nathan's knee with the tips of his fingers, and between bursts of conversation, Nathan listens to Peter breathe--slow, steady, deep, and even. Heidi and Mom come in, eventually, with wide smiles and ask them to have a glass of wine. Nathan looks over at Peter, who smiles sheepishly, but as they walk out of the room, Nathan thinks he might have seen a split-second sadness reflected in his brother's eyes, like glints of light off Heidi's ring.

*

Right away, he notices Peter is different.

They're both home all week--Nathan is waiting for his job at the DA's office to start up and helping Heidi move in, Peter's on winter break--so he sees it. Peter doesn't seek him out at all hours of the day, he avoids physical contact, and eye contact when they have a conversation that lasts more than five minutes, he eats his dinner in his room, he barely ever smiles, and his fingernails are little more than ragged stubs. Heidi says he's just being a teenager (you remember being a teenager, right Nathan?), but something about the ends of her sentences tugs on his bones, makes him suspicious. So he stays up on Saturday night, waits at the bottom of the stairs for Peter to come home. Everyone (Mom, Pop, Heidi, their tiny Haitian night watchman, Jean-Paul) tells him it's sweet, but Peter doesn't need a baby sitter. He just smiles up from his Hemingway and tells them he wants to make sure he's okay, and when they leave, turns back to the picture tucked between pages 100 and 101. It's of a group of kids on one of those ferries that goes around Manhattan in two hours. They're all slathered in sunscreen, wearing baseball hats and white t-shirts. But the one in the middle, the one smiling crookedly at the camera, makes Nathan's stomach turn, and yet he can't stop staring. He jumps when the clock down the hall strikes eleven, and moves to the foyer so he can put his feet up.

Peter finally stumbles in around one, and he's not alone. He's got his arm slung around the neck of some guy, some square-jawed football-player type with a mess of wavy brown hair. Peter's still got his key in his hand when Nathan stands up and clears his throat.

Peter's eyes go wide. "Shit," he says, then turns to his companion and they both start giggling drunkenly. Their winter coats hang limply around their shoulders and Peter's cheeks are bright pink.

As Nathan approaches them, he notices something in Peter's eyes that he doesn't like. "Thank you for bringing my brother home..." he begins, and lets his sentence hang in the air until the guy gets it.

"Oh, uh, Neil," the guy says in a deep, booming voice, and slips his hand out from under Peter's coat to extend to Nathan. Nathan shakes it and then starts ushering Peter into the house.

"Hey!" Neil says angrily. "I thought we were gonna--"

"Not tonight, Neil," Peter calls without turning around, leaning into Nathan for support.

"Fuck you, Petrelli," Neil yells, and slams the door on his way out.

"Thanks," Peter mutters as Nathan sets him down on the chair he was sitting in a few minutes ago. "I realized he was a mistake as soon as--"

"Yeah," Nathan says, thinking of the slew of parties he's been to in his life. "I know."

Peter looks directly into Nathan's eyes, groping at his arms. "I'm really drunk," he slurs.

"I can tell," Nathan says with as little affect in his voice as possible. He doesn't want Peter to know that he's terrified his little brother might have done more than just taken a guy home from wherever he was. He helps Peter out of his coat and just as he's about to untie his shoes for him, Peter grabs at him without looking.

"I think I'm gonna puke," he says, so Nathan practically picks him up and carries him to the bathroom. Peter falls painfully to his knees, and just as Nathan is about to leave, he reaches back and grabs the leg of his jeans. "Don't leave me," Peter pleads breathlessly, so Nathan gets down on one knee and presses a hand to his back.

"It's okay," Nathan says soothingly as Peter retches, still holding a fistful of denim. "It's gonna be o-kay."

Peter finally lets go when he leans against the tub behind him, panting for breath, holding an arm to his forehead in an overdramatic way that would make Nathan laugh if he wasn't so scared.

"You all right?" Nathan ventures, fingers still lingering on Peter's side, just in case he needs to guide him back to his knees.

"Yeah," Peter breathes. Then, with a knitted brow, "I wanna go to bed."

"Okay," Nathan says, and hooks an arm under both of Peter's, helps him out of the bathroom and up the stairs. Peter goes completely limp once he gets in bed, and Nathan smiles to himself as he lifts up his legs and takes off his shoes, reminded of all the times when he would carry a tiny, sleeping-like-he-was-dead Peter from in front of the TV up to his bedroom and tuck him in. Peter gets comfortable and pulls the blanket up around his nose. Nathan brushes his hair off his forehead and presses his lips there, partially to make sure he doesn't have a fever (he doesn't), and by the time he reaches the door, Peter's snoring.

By the time Peter wakes up at ten (having shed his hooded sweatshirt and jeans, though the red marks on his legs give him away), Nathan's already made him toast and tea and set it out on the island in the kitchen. Heidi's gone to meet friends for breakfast, so Nathan drinks coffee while they talk about school, work, the weather, anything but last night. Peter seems grateful for it.

Mom and Pop swirl into the kitchen at eleven. They don't seem to notice that Peter's hungover, which makes Nathan relax just a tiny bit. They're going to Europe, Mom says, to visit friends for a few days, and won't Nathan be a dear and take care of things while they're gone? Nathan of course says yes, kisses his mother on the cheek. Peter takes a break from munching on his toast to say goodbye, lets Mom brush his hair out of his face. She smiles at him, and then they're gone.

As soon as their parents are out the door, Nathan says, "So, what kind of trouble do you want to get into this week?" And he grins. When he was still in high school and they were left home alone (with Claudia, their housekeeper), they'd stay up late, eat ice cream for dinner, watch scary movies--the fun stuff. But apparently Peter's gotten too old for that.

"School," he says after gulping down some tea. "Thanks for breakfast, I gotta go study."

"Yeah," Nathan says, trying not to let his disappointment show. "Good luck."

He doesn't see Peter the rest of the day.

*

When Nathan wakes up on Monday morning, Peter's already gone to school, so he gets ready, kisses Heidi goodbye, and goes to work. They show him to his workspace, and then he has a series of orientation meetings with the other new hires. They spend what would normally be their lunch hour getting shown around the office (everyone else is out, of course), and then they get an hour at two. The others whine about it, but Nathan takes the opportunity to walk uptown to Peter's school, stopping at a deli on his way and picking up a pastrami-on-rye. He gets to the school a few minutes before the final bell rings, so he leans against one of the brick walls. Apparently they changed the bell to a buzzer since Nathan's been here, but it doesn't matter when he sees a smiling Peter coming down the steps with a very pretty African-American girl. He looks genuinely happy, and that makes Nathan smile himself.

"Peter!" he calls, waving. Peter looks up, sees him, and his face immediately goes slack and turns beet-red. They start walking towards each other, Peter a little reluctantly, and the girl follows him despite his obvious desire otherwise.

"Nathan, what--what are you doing here?" Peter says, looking at the brown paper bag in Nathan's hand.

"I'm on my lunch break," he says. "Thought I could walk you home." He turns his attention to the girl behind Peter, who's clearly annoyed that she's not part of this conversation. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Pete?"

"Oh, uh," Peter sputters, adjusting the straps of his backpack. Nathan notices slivers of dried blood on the tattered edge of three of his fingernails, but doesn't bring it up.

"I'm Michelle," she says, thrusting her hand at Nathan. "And you must be Nathan."

"That I am," he says, taking her hand in his own.

"I was going to walk Michelle home," Peter blurts out.

"Oh," Nathan says, a little disappointed.

"What's that?" Michelle asks suddenly, brow knitted, gesturing vaguely at Nathan's chin.

"Oh, this?" Nathan runs his finger over the scar on his jaw. "Bar fight. Too many drinks, too many rings. Twenty stitches to put me back together." He winks at her, hoping she buys the story. He's a little surprised she noticed it, so obviously Peter told her about it and he doesn't want to embarrass him by telling the truth.

"Uh huh," she says, nodding, then gestures at Nathan. "Well, Peter, if you want to--"

"No no, that's okay," Nathan says, smiling at Peter, trying to get him to not look like he wants to melt into the concrete. "I'll see my brother at home, it's fine."

Michelle's eyes go wide, just for a split second, but before she can say anything, Peter grabs her hand and mutters, "See ya later Nathan," as they walk away.

Nathan eats half of his sandwich on the way back to the office, wondering what the hell that was all about. (He puts the other half in the refrigerator when he stops at home, and it's gone the next morning.)

*

On Tuesday, the heat in the office stops working at noon, so everyone gets to go home early. Nathan's sitting in the den with a pile of contracts when the phone rings.

"Mr. Petrelli?" the voice on the other end says. It sounds vaguely familiar.

"Uh, if you're looking for Arthur, he's out of town for a few days. This is his son. How can I help you?" He almost curses himself for sounding so much like his father, despite just rattling off the exact opposite.

"Oh, well, yes, maybe you can help me." A pause, a shuffling of papers through the line. "This is Dr. Offenbach, I'm the psychologist at your brother's school. Peter, uh, was just in to see me."

Nathan puts down the contract he was just reviewing, a wave of panic sweeping over him. "Is he all right?"

"Yes, yes, he's fine," Offenbach says quickly. "He just--" Another pause, more papers. "I think he could use someone to talk to."

"Why do you say that?" he asks, trying to hide the quiver that still threatens to creep into his voice.

"One of his friends came to me this morning, said he's been acting...strange lately. And he's refusing to talk to me about it. I thought maybe someone at home might have better luck."

"All right," Nathan says, subconsciously rubbing his thumb along his jaw. "I'll talk to him tonight."

"Thank you, Mr. Petrelli."

"Nathan, please."

Another pause, this one heavier than the others. Offenbach comes back a little flustered. "Oh, ah, I see, Nathan, right. Let me know how it goes."

They say goodbye and hang up and Nathan starts to think either the world is going crazy around him, or Peter has some terrible secret that he'll have to pry out of him.

"Well," he says out loud to the empty room, "this should be fun."

*

Peter gets home and goes straight to his room without saying hello. Nathan lets him be until dinner time, when he knocks on the bedroom door and pushes it open even though Peter doesn't answer. He's sitting cross-legged on his bed with a pen behind his ear, facing away from the door.

"Homework?" Nathan says, standing in the doorway.

"Yeah," Peter says without turning around.

"Look, Peter, I--" Nathan leans against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. He might be here a while. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you yesterday."

"You didn't embarrass me." Still not turning away from his homework.

"Oh, uh--"

"I just don't need you to walk me home anymore."

"Right, well, my mistake."

Peter finally half-turns around, twisting his body and looking very uncomfortable because of it. "You've been gone for four years, Nathan. You don't even know me anymore."

"I'm doing the best I can, Pete." He's trying not to sound annoyed, but it's not working.

"Just--stop pretending you know stuff about me." And he turns back to his homework, which is clearly Nathan's cue to leave, but he stays anyway.

"You hungry?" he asks, going ahead with his plan.

"I'm fine." Peter takes the pen and writes something, then replaces it.

"Well, _I'm_ starving and I could use some company."

Peter gives a half-hearted scoff.

"C'mon, Peter. Please?"

Peter half-throws down his book and pen, exasperated. "God, fine."

"Don't get snippy with me," Nathan says automatically.

Peter stands up, starts walking towards the door. "I'm not being snippy."

Nathan holds up a hand to stop him. "Get your coat."

"What?"

"We're going out."

"Where?"

"It's a surprise. Get your coat," Nathan repeats, and leaves the room.

He comes upon Heidi packing in the front. She's going to her sister's baby shower tomorrow morning, flying down to Baltimore in a couple of hours, and she'll probably be gone by the time they get home again, so he tells her he loves her, to stay safe. She kisses the end of his nose, and then Peter comes around the corner, hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

"Have a good trip, Heidi," he says without looking at her.

She smiles at him, thanks him, and Nathan kisses her goodbye on his way to grabbing his coat from the front closet. Peter follows him outside without another word.

"Nathan, where the hell are we going?" Peter finally says after they've walked a few blocks.

Nathan just grins. "You'll see."

And then he sees it, in the distance, the little neon sign that's still glowing the same obnoxious green glow it was ten years ago.

"This place?" Peter asks skeptically as they approach the diner.

"You remember coming here for ice cream sodas on your birthday?"

"I still come here," he says. Then, after a moment, adds, "With my friends."

"Ah," Nathan says, trying not to sound disappointed and opening the door. It looks just about the same inside as it did last time he was here: red linoleum and silver fixtures and a thin layer of grease on everything, the same fry-cook in the same stupid hat, though the smell of burnt sugar isn't so strong anymore.

"Peter!" one of the waitresses says upon spotting them. She's a red-head, very cute, and clearly has eyes for Peter.

"Hey, Tammy," Peter says with a little friendly smirk.

"You boys sit anywhere you like, I'll be right with you."

There's only a handful of people in the diner, so they pick a booth, in the middle, away from the door. Peter slumps into his seat and doesn't look through the menu in front of him.

"And aren't you gonna introduce us?" Tammy says as she approaches.

"Oh, yeah, uh," Peter stammers, sits up a little. "This is my brother, Nathan. Nathan, this is Tammy. She works here Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays."

"Oh, shush, I'm gonna start thinkin' you're stalkin' me!" She has a pleasant, slightly unusual Southern accent. Virginian, Nathan thinks. It makes her even more adorable.

He grins at her and kisses her hand. "Nice to meet you, Tammy."

"And you, Nathan," she says with a slight curtsey. "Now, I have a job to do, so do you boys need a minute or do you know what you want?"

Peter orders his "usual," which is the same thing Peter's always gotten here when they sit down for a meal. Nathan knows it by heart, so he says to make it a double, smiling.

"Except could I get a diet Coke instead of cherry?" he says, and notices, out of the corner of his eye, that Peter is staring at him. Tammy seems a little flustered but scribbles something on her pad and tells them it's coming right up.

Peter interrupts his staring to blink once and say, "How did you--"

"You've always hated regular Coke," Nathan says, matter-of-factly. "Ever since you were a kid."

"But what about--"

"Bacon cheeseburger, medium--" he studies Peter's face for just a moment, as if he's thinking "--no onions."

"I like onions now," Peter says, blankly.

"Well, do I at least get half-credit?" He grins, and Peter blinks again. "You see, Pete, I do know things about you."

"That's--not exactly what I meant," Peter says, shaking his head. "But _A_ for effort, Nathan."

Tammy brings their sodas, says their burgers will be up in just a minute, winks at Peter as she leaves.

"She seems sweet," Nathan muses, taking a sip.

"Yeah, she's nice."

"Nice? C'mon, Pete, she's more than nice."

Peter just shrugs one shoulder.

"Well, is there another girl, then?"

"No." Peter has that look like he wants to disappear, but Nathan's not giving up just yet.

"What about Michelle? She's--"

"She's my best friend," Peter cuts in.

"So there's no girl--"

"Please don't turn into Mom," Peter begs. "She's always asking me if I've found a nice girl yet."

"Sorry," Nathan says quickly, "I just--I'm worried about you, kid."

"Yeah, you and everyone else," Peter says as he shifts down in his seat.

Nathan pushes his soda out of the way, leans in across the table. "I may not know things about you, but you're my brother, Pete, and I know when you're hurting." He pauses, then adds, "Don't think I haven't seen your fingers," before he sits back. It's enough.

"There's no girl," Peter mutters, defeated, but the way his voice trails off just slightly makes Nathan's throat feel funny.

"A boy, then?"

Peter just smirks at him.

"Jesus, Peter, you could've just told me. You think I've never known a gay man in my life?"

"I'm not--gay," Peter blurts out, voice fading away on the last word.

"That's kind of the definition," he says, matter-of-factly.

"I'm not--it's just him," Peter says desperately, but before he can explain, Tammy comes with their dinners. He takes the opportunity to catch his breath before practically attacking his burger.

"I thought you weren't hungry," Nathan teases before he takes a bite.

"Gueff I waf," Peter says through a mouthful.

They eat in silence for a minute or two, but Nathan watches his little brother, watches the way his hair falls and the way his fingers grip and the way his nose twitches. He studies him like he was about to interrogate him, which, he thinks, isn't that far from the truth.

"So," Nathan finally says when Peter's more than halfway done, "what's his name?"

Peter freezes mid-bite, raises his eyes slowly. "Wha?"

"This guy. What's his name?" Nathan takes a sip of his soda and waits.

Peter stares at him blankly, holding his breath.

"All right, you don't wanna tell me his name." Nathan thinks for a moment while Peter puts his food down. "It's not that Neil guy, is it?"

"Oh, God no. He was just some--some guy. Some football player from NYU."

"NYU doesn't _have_ a football team, Peter."

"Which--yeah, thanks for getting rid of him." Peter raises his glass slightly to Nathan and takes a sip.

"All right, not Neil," Nathan says, shaking his head slightly and looking towards the ceiling.

"Please don't try to guess," Peter says, on the verge of begging.

"Okay, okay." Nathan puts his hand up defensively. Then, after a few beats of chewing and silence, "Does he know?"

Peter shakes his head hesitantly, and tells Nathan what he already knows. "No."

"Are you gonna tell him?"

"I don't know."

"Well, it's obviously eating you up inside," Nathan says, as casual as possible, picking at his food. "You should tell him."

Peter snorts. "Yeah, that would go over well."

"Why do you say that?"

"He's not--he wouldn't understand."

"What exactly is there not to under--"

"I'm in love with him," Peter says quietly, propping one elbow up on the table and eyeing his fingernails. "And don't tell me I'm too young."

"I wasn't going to," Nathan says, defensively, and grabs Peter's arm gently before his ring finger reaches his mouth.

"Sorry," he mutters, embarrassed. Nathan lets go of his arm. Peter chews on his lip. "But how do you--how do you tell someone you love them?"

"Let's do a roleplay game," Nathan suggests, and almost immediately regrets it. Judging by the current state of the back of his throat, and Peter's reluctance to divulge any information without considerable prying, this can only end badly. He pushes forward anyway.

Peter looks up at him. "What?"

"You know," he says, trying to not let his squirming insides interfere, "I'll be you and you'll be him. You react how you think he would react. We did it all the time in law school. C'mon."

Peter stares. Nathan clears his throat.

"I'll start." He tries to get inside Peter's head, tries to think like he's eighteen. It's not hard. "Hey," he says, tossing his head casually.

"Hey," Peter says after a beat. He's suddenly very poised, and very into his character. The guy must be a really piece of work, Nathan thinks.

"There's, ah, something that's been on my mind," he says, still channeling his little brother.

Peter doesn't make eye contact when he says, "What's that, Pete?"

Slipping out of character for a moment, Nathan whispers, "He calls you Pete?"

"A lot of people call me Pete," Peter says, a little too quickly.

Nathan shakes his head. "I, ah. I love you."

"I love you too." Then, leaning in, under his breath, "He wouldn't get it from that."

A little confused and feeling a little warm in the ears, Nathan says, "Oh, okay." He pauses, gets back into Peter mode. "I mean, I'm _in_ love with you."

"Oh," Peter says a little breathlessly, shakes his head. "That, uh. Wow. Wow." He spreads his hands out on the table in front of him. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I just--"

"I mean, it's not like there's anything we could _do_ about it, Pete."

"He'd take it that well, huh?" Nathan teases, trying to hide the fact that Peter just sounded exactly like their father.

"Yeah," Peter smirks and starts picking at his fries.

"Now let's switch," Nathan starts, and ignoring the fact that Peter's head snaps up. "I'll be him and you be--"

"I love you," Peter cuts in, with a certainty Nathan's never heard in his voice or seen in his eyes. His jaw sets, and Nathan just stares at him for a second.

"Peter, are you--"

"I'm _in_ love with you."

And by the time Nathan remembers how to breathe again, Peter's already muttered _thanks for dinner_ and is leaving the diner. He gets up and tries to catch him as he goes out he door, but he's too young and too quick, and Nathan's too caught up in the tightness in his chest, so by the time he steps out into the cold, Peter's nowhere to be found.

*

Nathan spends the next hour walking around aimlessly. He tells himself he's looking for Peter, but really, that's secondary; his primary objective is to sort out what the hell is going on inside his head. Because he know that he loves Peter--he always has, he always will--that's not the problem. The problem is that goddamn picture in that goddamn book and the funny feeling he gets in the back of his throat every time he thinks about it.

And then somehow, before he can come up with anything solid, he ends up back home. Heidi's already gone, but Jean-Paul is, as always, still around.

"Have you seen Peter?" he asks as the watchman opens the closet door so he can put his coat away.

"No, Mistah Nathan, I have not. Miss Heidi said he was out with you."

"He was, but he got away from me." Nathan thinks for a moment, then remembers Peter's friend. "You know his friend Michelle?"

"Yes, of course," Jean-Paul says. "She is over here two, three times every week."

"Great, great, do you know her phone number?"

"Ah, no, Mistah Nathan. I am sorry."

Nathan sighs. "All right, that's fine." And he starts walking towards Peter's room.

"He keeps his address book in his desk!" Jean-Paul calls after him. He half-turns and nods and thanks him.

Nathan searches through Peter's desk drawers, and before he finds the address book, he finds a stack of looseleaf paper in a drawer. Every page is filled with writing. He picks one up; it's a letter, in Peter's handwriting, and it's addressed to him. It's about a barbeque Mom dragged them to a couple of years ago, where Nathan was too old to be a kid and too young to be an adult, so he harassed Peter the entire time. Peter got really pissed and they ended up fighting in the yard, wrestling a little more than playfully. The letter was clearly written soon after the fight, because Peter's tone is fresh and raucous, like he was when he was fourteen. And then, Nathan almost chokes on his own saliva: _But every time I try to get angry,_ Peter's blocky letters tell him, _all I can think about is your hand in my hair._

He carefully replaces the letter, eyes half-open, trying to pretend he didn't just read those words. The address book is in the next drawer down, and he flips through it quickly, finds Michelle's name, and almost forgets his coat on his way out.

*

The address Peter has down for Michelle Thompson is almost twenty blocks away, but Nathan decides to walk it anyway, thinking maybe the cool air will clear his head. He reaches the building feeling much less like a puddle and much more like a human being, and once he tells the doorman he's Peter's brother, he's buzzed in without hesitation.

The building is nice, carpets on the floors, polished wood, all that, but it's far from the posh double penthouse the Petrellis inhabit. Apartment 2G is the one furthest away from the elevator, but right next to the stairwell, which is convenient for Nathan. He knocks three times, and a strikingly beautiful black woman answers, eyeing him skeptically.

"Mrs. Thompson?" he ventures, slipping the book into his coat pocket.

"She's my ex-mother-in-law, sweetheart, what can I do you for?"

"This is the residence of Michelle Thompson, though, right?" Nathan immediately realizes how wrong that must have sounded coming from him.

"I'm her mother, and who the hell are you?" She crosses her arms and completely blocks the doorway.

His mouth is suddenly dry. "I'm Nathan Petrelli. I'm Peter's brother. Been looking all over for him, thought he might be here."

Her face relaxes. "Oh, well why didn't you say so?" she says, stepping aside and opening the door all the way. "Peter!" she calls into the apartment. "Your brother is here!"

Nathan's heart leaps into his throat as he steps inside. It's dark in the entranceway, but he sees a light on to his left, where Michelle's mother is leading him. He almost feels intrusive as his shoes squeak on the tile floor when he reaches the kitchen, where Peter and Michelle were obviously just in a deep discussion. Peter is standing, swaying slightly, and staring at him like a deer in headlights.

"Nathan," he practically gasps, and it makes Nathan's ribs ache.

"Hi Pete." Then, calmly, "Hello Michelle, nice to see you again."

Michelle just nods and mumbles something that might be, "You too."

He turns back to Peter. "Let's go home."

Peter nods and takes his jacket off the back of the chair. "See you tomorrow, Michelle," he says without looking at her. She just nods.

He thanks Michelle's mother (she says her name is Rita after Nathan tries to call her Mrs. Thompson again) on the way out, and Peter tromps down the stairs ahead of him without saying a word. The doorman says goodbye as they walk out the door, and Peter smiles weakly at him. Nathan just nods.

Peter waits out on the street while Nathan puts his gloves on, buttons up his coat. He notices Peter's jacket is open, and his hands are bare.

"For God's sake, Peter," he mumbles as he tugs on the two sides of Peter's jacket, "zip up your coat."

Peter wrenches away from him before he can hook the zipper. "I'm fine," he mutters, and starts walking.

Nathan's chest tightens, but he knows if he doesn't do this now, he never will, so he grabs Peter's shoulder before he gets too far. "Look, Pete, I know what you're going through."

"Oh really," Peter says sarcastically.

"Yes, really."

"Don't patronize me, Nathan, you don't know the first thing about what I'm going through."

"Yes, I do. Peter, I--"

Peter scoffs at him, throws his hand off and starts walking again.

"I found your letters."

Peter turns on his heel, rage in his eyes. "What?"

"I found them. I read one."

"You had no right to do that."

Nathan sighs. "You're right, I didn't. But that doesn't change the fact that I did."

"What the hell were you doing in my desk?" His fists are clenched at his sides, and if he had any fingernails to speak of, they'd be digging into his palms.

Nathan walks towards him, pulls the address book out of his pocket. "Looking for this. I was worried about you. Needed to find you."

"Why did it take you an hour and a half, then?" Peter's trying to sound angry, but he's also chewing on the inside of his bottom lip.

"I had some thinking to do." He grabs Peter's arm and pulls him towards the building, out of the traffic on the sidewalk. "Listen, Pete, I'm trying to tell you something here."

Peter glances up from his shoes permissively.

Nathan swallows. "Those feelings, the ones you talked about in the letter. I have them too."

Peter rolls his eyes, tosses his head. "Yeah, and so does every other male of the species. I know, Nathan. I got the lecture from Dad when I was twelve."

"No, I mean. The feelings about me." The back of Nathan's neck feels like it's on fire. He sighs, and then words tumble out of him like water. "I mean, it's normal as a horny thirteen-year-old to want to screw everything that moves. I know, I was thirteen once. I spent the entire summer wanting to stick my tongue in Tommy's ear. But then I didn't see him for a year and by that time, those feelings, those urges, they were gone." He's never told anyone about that summer with his cousin Tommy, never thought he'd need to. He takes a deep breath but it doesn't help.

"So you're telling me this is normal?" Peter's voice is half skeptical and half hopeful. It makes Nathan's ears itch.

"No," he spits out. "God no."

Peter tosses his head again, shaking the hair out of his eyes. "Look, I'm not going to stand here and listen to you judge me--"

"Mom sent me some pictures," Nathan says quietly cutting him off. "When I was at the Academy. I almost didn't recognize you. I thought you were--" His stomach lurches slightly, but he swallows and it's gone. "You were eleven, Peter." He pauses only for a moment, waiting for Peter to react (he doesn't) before he continues, barely above a whisper, as if the few people passing them on the sidewalk were paying attention. "I definitely wasn't thirteen, and those feelings--they never went away. It was like every time I looked at you--God, every time I still look at you--"

Peter looks up at him and it feels like a punch in the gut, so his mouth decides to return the favor without asking permission first.

"Sometimes I want to rip my eyes out just so I don't have to."

Once the words are out, he half-wishes he could take them back, but he can't, and it physically hurts to watch Peter's eyes trail downwards again as he toes at something on the ground.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Nathan stands up straight after realizing he was bent over. "I don't know." He sighs. "I don't know." He notices Peter's jaw shaking, so he takes the opportunity to go to the curb.

"What are you doing?" Peter asks, following him.

He glances back, looks Peter up and down as he waves his hand out into the street. "We have twenty blocks to walk and your lips are turning blue. I'm hailing us a cab."

"I'm fine," Peter mutters, but shoves his hands further into his pockets.

He lets Peter get in the cab first, and by the time he's given the driver their address, Peter's hands are between his knees.

"So," Peter says, rocking himself slightly, "what do we do now?"

"We do nothing, Pete," Nathan says in as even a tone as he can muster up. "There's nothing to do."

"But, I mean, we could--"

"No, we couldn't." He concentrates very hard on taking off his gloves.

"Why not?"

Nathan looks up suddenly. Peter's nose and cheeks are pink, and his eyes are big and bright. Hopeful, even. "For a million different reasons," Nathan says after he catches his breath. He closes the window between them and the driver before whispering, harshly, "Not the least of which is that you're my brother. Or had you forgotten that one?"

Peter gingerly places his hand on Nathan's thigh and it almost stings. "We wouldn't be hurting anyone. I'm eighteen, I can make my own decisions. I love you."

"Because I said so," Nathan snaps. The light hasn't gone out in Peter's eyes yet as he slowly raises his hand to Nathan's face, brushes his fingertips against his cheek, and Nathan subconsciously leans into the touch, like a cat.

"You're afraid," Peter whispers, responding to the pressure against his fingers. "Don't be afraid." And then, before Nathan can even react, Peter kisses him. Peter's kissed him before, but this is different: this isn't _hello_ or _goodbye_ or even _congratulations_. It's still light and chaste, but something about it sends chills through Nathan's body that distinctly say _I love you_ , and when he puts one hand on Peter's knee and wraps the other around the back of Peter's neck and pulls him back, it's almost just a reflex. He closes his eyes and for a second, he forgets it's Peter's tongue sliding inside his mouth, but then Peter moans, quietly, and suddenly Nathan becomes hyper-aware of everything: the creak of the leather seat beneath them, the tinny sound of the radio, the coolness of Peter's hand on his hip underneath the waistband of his slacks, the warm wetness of Peter's lips against his. He always thought he would feel wrong or dirty kissing Peter like this, but aside from his usual first-kiss squirming insides, all he feels is relief.

He finally pulls away and before he can stop them, the thoughts in his head leap off his tongue in a gasping whisper: "I always thought you would taste different than everyone else."

He opens his eyes to see Peter looking back at him, swollen lips quirked into a half-smile. "And here I thought you would taste exactly the same," Peter murmurs. It's only then that Nathan realizes the cab has stopped moving, the driver eyeing them in the rearview mirror and shaking his head.

Peter notices the horrified look on Nathan's face, and gets out of the cab without a word. Nathan stays frozen for a second until Peter's hand (Peter's hand, which was just down his pants, _Jesus_ is thrust back in the car to help him out. He gets out himself, and whispers to Peter, "Go inside." Peter nods and walks up the block to their front door. He leans in the open driver's window, pulls out his wallet.

"Listen," he says to the cabbie, "you tell anyone--anyone--what just happened in that backseat, I will find you and make your life miserable, you understand me?" The driver nods, one eyebrow raised. The guy obviously doesn't know who he is, but it's better to be safe than sorry, so he hands him a handful of twenties and tells him to keep the change.

Peter's left the door open for him, but is nowhere to be found. Jean-Paul approaches him from the darkness of the corridor.

"Is everything all right?" the watchman asks as he opens the closet.

"Yes, yes, everything's fine," Nathan says absently as he hands over his coat. Then, with a hand on Jean-Paul's shoulder, "I need you to do me a favor."

"Anything, Mistah Nathan."

"I need you to go home tonight."

Jean-Paul's eyes go wide. "If I--"

"I'm not firing you," Nathan blurts out. "I just need--my brother's going through something and we need some time. Alone." He tries to ignore the tingly feeling in the back of his throat.

Jean-Paul smiles at him. "I am not one to drop eaves, Mistah Nathan," he teases. "But if you really need me to go--" Nathan nods at this "--then I will go."

Nathan claps him on the back. "Thanks so much, Jean-Paul. And please--don't tell my mother."

"Of course," Jean-Paul says, touching his finger to his nose and winking. "The Petrelli brothers' secret is safe with me." And as he grabs his jacket, Nathan slips a twenty into his hand, tells him it's for cab fare, and refuses to take it back.

As soon as the watchman is gone, Nathan bounds up the stairs two at a time. His stomach aches and his knees feel like water and _good god_ , he needs to be next to Peter right now or he's going to explode. But Peter's not in his room, and he panics for a second until he hears, from across the hall, "In here."

Peter's sitting cross-legged on the bed in the guest room, picking at a loose thread on the bedspread. His hair is in his eyes and he's shirtless, and Nathan almost laughs at the contradiction.

"What are you doing in here, Pete?"

"This used to be your room," Peter says without looking up. "I used to sneak in in the middle of the night--"

"You'd say you were having a bad dream, but I could always tell when you were lying," Nathan finishes, a warm grin creeping into his face. "Yeah, I remember."

"Your feet were always cold, but I didn't care." He stops picking at the blanket and brings his hand up to his mouth, starts gnawing away little bits of his almost nonexistent fingernails.

Nathan kneels on the bed and gently pulls Peter's hand down, holds it between them. One corner of Peter's mouth tugs up, just a little, and Nathan curls one finger under Peter's chin and lifts it up.

"Hey," he says quietly, letting his knuckle brush against Peter's jaw. "Hey."

And then, without warning, Peter leans forward and kisses him, bringing his hands up to frame his face. It's messy and sloppy and awkward and their noses collide and Nathan's pretty sure that copper-sweet taste on his tongue is blood; he doesn't know if it's his or Peter's but decides it doesn't really matter. Peter's hands drift down his neck, start fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, and then are everywhere, all over him, in a way they've never been before. He gets his arms out of his shirt and pushes one hand up against the angled edge of Peter's jawbone, brushes his thumb against his ear. Peter moans, deep and low in his chest, and Nathan doesn't so much hear it as feel it in the pit of his stomach. Peter pulls his shirt out of his waistband and starts pawing at his belt, accomplishing nothing, so Nathan takes his hand off Peter's thigh and undoes the buckle without even opening his eyes. Peter's hands are still on his belly when he pulls away, and Nathan just lets Peter's warm breath wash over his face before he opens his eyes, and when he does, Peter is grinning at him, and then they're kissing again, as if they were put on pause and now fast-forward and Nathan's head spins in a way that isn't entirely unpleasant.

Peter tips him onto his back, kneels between his thighs, and as they're both catching their breath, and he undoes the button and the zipper on Nathan's slacks. He slips his hand under the waistband of his briefs at the same time as he leans over, pressing his mouth to Nathan's belly, then moves up his chest, tracing the curves of flesh with his tongue, nipping at skin with his teeth, letting his fingers brush against Nathan's cock, and there's a little twinge of response that goes all the way up his spine. Peter's kissing him again, wrapping his nimble, needy fingers around his cock, and Nathan grips his shoulders, digging his fingers into skin and flesh and bone, and kisses him back, pushes the both of them upright again.

He pulls away from Peter's mouth, but touches their foreheads together. The air between them is heavy with need and want and yes, fuck, even love, and it feels like a lifetime, maybe two, before Peter swallows and whispers, "So, how do we do this?"

Nathan opens his eyes, sits up straight, draws in a deep breath. Peter's hand is still on his hip, thumb rubbing light on the bump of bone beneath it. "You ever..." he says, and lets his voice trail off.

Peter shakes his head. "H--have you?"

"Yeah," Nathan says. "Knew a girl. In Texas that one summer." He pauses, collects himself. Now is not the time to remember dead girlfriends, however appropriate the memory might be.

Peter nods, as if he understands, then ventures, "But have you ever--I mean, have you ever been--"

"How do you think I always got top bunk in the barracks, huh?" He winks lewdly, but Peter just rolls his eyes. "Okay, you have any, uh--"

Peter leans back and reaches behind him, into the drawer of the nightstand, pulls out a little tube of KY, and grins. "Stole it from Heidi a while ago. I don't think she noticed."

Nathan quirks an eyebrow automatically.

Peter shrugs. "Never know where I'm gonna be, you know?"

Nathan snorts. "You are _such_ a teenager," he teases. "And I was thinking more a prophylactic, but--"

"They call them condoms now, old man." Peter smirks, then starts sputtering: "And I--I don't--"

"You clean?" he asks, taking the KY out of his hand, because if Peter doesn't want latex between them, he's certainly not going to force the issue.

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

"All right then," he says, nods; then, as gently as he can, "Get on your knees."

Peter does so, turns around and unzips his jeans. He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs and Nathan helps him even though he doesn't need to, just to trail his knuckles over soft skin, and Peter shivers a little in response. He realizes, at this moment, staring at the curve of Peter's spine, that he's seen his baby brother without clothes before--seen him when he was born, given him baths, pulled his swimming trunks down in the pool to embarrass him in front of girls, stripped him down and thrown him in the shower that one time he had a fever that wouldn't break--but he's never really seen him _naked_. He feels dirty and wrong and a little like he wants to throw up, but then Peter looks over his shoulder, eyes wide.

"You okay?" Peter asks, as if he wasn't the one about to get fucked by his big brother.

"Yeah," Nathan mutters, looking down at the cap he's unscrewing. Then, glancing back up at Peter, "You?"

"Yeah," Peter says, chewing on his bottom lip. "Just--is it gonna hurt?"

"Probably a little, yeah," he says, coating his fingers in lube. He looks directly into Peter's eyes and adds, "But you tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

Peter looks forward again. "Okay."

He still sounds a little nervous, so despite the blood pounding in his ears and throat, Nathan wraps his clean hand around Peter's calf and says, "Hey, I'm not gonna do anything you don't want me to, I promise."

"Yeah," Peter says, leaning down onto his elbows. "Is that good?"

"It's fine," Nathan murmurs, moves Peter's legs a little further apart so he can fit between them, scoots forward on his knees. "You ready?"

Peter nods, and Nathan gently pushes into him with one finger. Peter gasps sharply but nods permissively, so Nathan teases him open, a little at a time, the way he did it last time, the way he knows feels good, dragging his wet thumb in slow circles on smooth skin. Peter moans little ragged moans, and when Nathan slips another finger alongside the first and closes his eyes, they turn into one continuous moan that starts in his belly and ends in his throat as scissor motions work him open just a little more, just a little more.

"Okay," Nathan says as he gets his pants to his knees and slicks himself up. He leans over and presses his lips to Peter's spine, leads a little trail of nipping kisses up, up, up, until he reaches his neck. "You sure you want this?" he breathes, slowly guiding his half-hard cock into position.

"Please, Nathan," Peter gasps. So Nathan eases himself in, gently, slowly, pressing his mouth to Peter's back, swirling his tongue in little circles all across his shoulders, tasting cotton and sweat and _Peter_. He's tight, really tight--dear God, of course he's tight, boy's never been fucked before, Nathan, good job--and he gets almost halfway in before Peter tells him, between panting, mouthy breaths, to stop.

He lifts his head, but doesn't pull out. He's already gotten this far. "What's wrong?"

"Fucking hurts," Peter groans. "Fucking hurry."

Nathan's already feeling a bit hysterical, so trying not to laugh is more difficult than it usually is with Peter. "Trust me, Pete, you don't want me to hurry." He kisses the jut of Peter's shoulder blade to stop his mouth. "Trust me," he whispers.

Peter sighs a shuddering sigh and says, "Okay."

Nathan rolls his hips, slowly, rhythmically, leaning over and steadying himself with a hand on Peter's back, right at the little dip in flesh near his hipbone, until he's all the way inside his little brother, fuck, his eighteen-year-old little pervert of a brother, and the thought drifts into his mind that he could get arrested right now in forty-six different states, but he pushes it out because he just doesn't fucking care.

"God, Peter," he groans breathlessly. "God." He pulls out just a little, then pushes back in, probably a little too fast because Peter moans out a string of obscenities Nathan's fairly sure he's never heard before. "Sorry," he grunts, but at this point, his brain isn't in control anymore; his knees ache and his stomach is in his throat, but Peter's deep, chesty _fuck, nathan_ s are enough to keep his hips rocking. Nathan can feel something tingling in his thighs, but Peter's whimpering now, words getting caught and hissing in his throat for a few thrusts before he finally gets it out, pleadingly: "Stop."

Nathan nods even though Peter can't see him, presses his palm to Peter's lower back, and pulls his cock out, slowly, carefully, groaning a little as he backs up on his knees. Peter groans, too, in relief, and rolls onto his back as soon as Nathan's out of his way. He's all splayed out, so without even thinking, Nathan climbs on top of him and kisses him, tangling one hand in his hair and resting the other on the curve of his neck, rubbing their bodies together in a slow, steady rhythm, because Petrellis are not quitters, dammit, and they're going to consummate this if it kills them.

Their mouths are desperate, devouring each other without care, without even stopping to breathe. Peter's hips rock up and his cock butts up against Nathan's and it's not long before they come, Nathan first, hips stilling quietly as he moans into Peter's mouth; Peter's hips lift clear off the bed a minute later, and he almost sucks all the air out of Nathan's lungs before he finally gets a chance to pull away and roll over and look down, first at Peter's semen-streaked belly, then at his own.

"Jesus Christ," Peter pants. "That--that was--"

"I know, I'm sorry," Nathan rambles as he grabs a box of tissues off the nightstand, shoves a handful at Peter and starts cleaning himself up frantically. "I didn't know--I didn't think--"

Peter holds his wrist, and they lock eye lines. "I was gonna say--" Peter's face breaks. "Yeah, that was probably the worst sex I ever had--"

"You've done it before?" Nathan blurts out. He shouldn't feel that twang of disappointment in his belly, but he does.

"I might be stupidly in love with you," Peter says playfully, as if he expected it, "but I'm not a monk."

"Oh," Nathan says stupidly.

"I mean," Peter says quickly, "none of them really _meant_ anything. None of them made me feel like--" he smiles contentedly "--like I’m flying."

"Yeah," Nathan says absently, and finishes pawing at his belly, then helps Peter with his. He gets off the bed and gathers up their wads of tissue with one hand, pulling up his underwear with the other, letting his slacks fall to the floor and stepping out of them. He walks over to the garbage can near the door, and when he turns back, Peter's on his side, and smiling. "What?"

"Just--I never noticed before." Peter looks up at his face. "You're a good-looking guy, Nathan."

"You never noticed?" Nathan asks, pretending to be offended as he sits on the bed again, his back right up against Peter's still-damp belly. "I'm shocked, Peter, that football player you brought home looked just like me." He smiles and pulls one leg up on the bed, curls it under himself, starts running his fingers through Peter's damp hair, rubs his thumb over his temple. Peter rests a hand on the small of his back, fingers twitching soothingly.

"I mean, okay, I _noticed_ ," Peter concedes. "But that isn't why I--you know."

"Yeah," he says, "yeah, I know." Then, after a beat of silence, "When did you know?"

"Hmm?"

"I told you. I think it's only fair."

"All right," Peter says, propping himself up a little on one elbow. "You remember that trip we took to Niagara Falls?"

Nathan looks down at his little brother, genuinely shocked now. "You were six, Peter."

Peter continues. "I was too short to see anything, so you hoisted me up and you sat me on the railing and you wrapped your arm around my chest, and you said you wouldn't let me fall. You pointed out everything until some guard came along and yelled at you. And _that_ was the first time I ever really understood love." He smirks up at his big brother. "That was when I knew you loved me."

"That's not what I meant," Nathan teases.

"I know. But there's no way I can pinpoint it, Nathan. I don't have that luxury." He smiles, a little sadly, and glances at the clock on the nightstand. Nathan does too: it's almost eleven.

"You should get to bed," he says, hand still in Peter's hair.

"Yeah," Peter says, but neither brother makes any sort of move to get up until Peter suggests they've already gotten the blanket dirty, the least they can do is sleep in the bed. And so they get under the covers and Nathan wraps his arms around Peter's waist, and their legs get all tangled up so that the only way to know where one of them ends and the other begins is the temperature difference.

"Your feet are cold," he murmurs into Peter's neck, and a few minutes later, they're both sound asleep.

*

When Claudia wakes him up the next morning by throwing back the covers, Peter's gone.

"What're you doing in here, Nathan?" the housekeeper asks, opening the curtains, totally disregarding the fact that he's almost completely naked. There's still a Peter-shaped indent in the mattress next to him, and his arms feel strangely sore. He sits up, swings his feet down, holds one hand to his head.

"Was talking with Peter last night. Must have fallen asleep in here." He looks at the clock. It's almost seven, when he usually gets up.

"Well, men are entitled to their secrets," she says as she watches him get out of bed, holding out his robe. "Thought you might want that."

He takes it and puts it on, smiling at her. "Thanks, Claudia."

"I think your brother's making breakfast, if you want to catch him."

"Yeah, thanks," he yawns, and even though the last thing he wants to do right now is talk to Peter, he's starving, so he pads downstairs.

Peter is, in fact, making breakfast, watching the toaster intently. He's completely dressed in his uniform, and his backpack and jacket are waiting on the counter.

"Hey Pete," Nathan says absently, going for the coffee pot.

Peter stands up straight, and is clearly trying to fight a huge, stupid grin from breaking out on his face. "Hey Nathan."

Claudia comes whisking into the kitchen at that moment, so Nathan calls into work, and he feels Peter's eyes on the back of his neck the whole time. The heat is back up and running, so he needs to be in at 8:30 like usual. Claudia's still tidying up when he gets off the phone, and Peter asks her if he could have a minute alone with his brother. She says of course, the living room is a mess anyway.

Peter leans against the counter and pushes his hair off of his forehead, and Nathan drinks his coffee, and when Peter catches his eye, the color starts draining from his face. They just look at each other for a few seconds, the air between them like lead.

"We're not gonna talk about it, are we?" Peter says, finally.

"No, Pete, we're not," Nathan says into his coffee cup, looking down. The words come out almost by accident, and they feel like tiny pins on his tongue. He's suddenly lost his appetite.

The toaster finishes at that moment, so Peter grabs his toast and his backpack and his jacket, and mutters, "Have a good day, Nathan," as he leaves.

When the front door slams, Nathan puts his coffee down, leans his elbows on the island, holds his head in his hands and squeezes his eyes shut for a minute before Claudia comes back in.

"You okay, kid?" she asks.

He draws in a sharp breath and stands up straight. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, thanks."

She eyes him carefully. "Well, it's getting late, you should get going."

"Yeah, absolutely," he says, downs the rest of his coffee, and takes a shower in the hopes that his chest will stop feeling like it's collapsing. It doesn't.

*

When he gets to work, there's a pile of paperwork on his desk that his boss says needs to be done by the end of the day. It's mostly backlog from yesterday, and the handful of new people must pick up the slack. He rubs his eyes, pushes Peter out of his mind, and gets to work. That is, until 11:30, when he gets his first phone call that isn't work-related.

"Mr. Petrelli, this is Jane McCaffrey," says the voice on the other end. "I'm the principal at your brother's school."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Now is not exactly--"

"There's been a fight," she says, and Nathan's heart leaps into his throat.

"Is he all right?" he asks, trying and failing to hide the sudden panic that's come over him.

"He's fine, he's sitting across my desk from me right now." Nathan sits back in his chair. "We just need someone to come sign some paperwork and take him home. Your parents are out-of--"

"Yeah, I know, I'll be there in ten minutes," he says and hangs up before she can finish her sentence.

He tells the boss he has to go take care of family business, and she tells him he'd better still get his contracts done. He takes a cab uptown, bounds up the stairs in front of the school two at a time, and tells the office staff he's Peter Petrelli's brother. They show him through to the principal's office. A mean-looking blond-headed boy is seated in a chair and his mother is standing behind him; in the other chair, Peter's unmistakable floppy hair and rumpled jacket give him away. He stops in the doorway.

The principal--Mrs. McCaffrey, her nameplate says--looks up at him and smiles. She's the picture of a matriarch, granny glasses perched on her nose and everything. "Won't you come in," she says, and it's not a question.

He steps inside the office, closes the door behind him, and kneels down so he can see Peter's face. He's got a black eye and a gash on his left cheekbone, but otherwise he seems okay. When Nathan tries to touch him, he pulls away.

"Who's this," the other kid says, "your boyfriend?" His mother shushes him harshly.

"He's my brother," Peter mumbles. He bats Nathan's hand away again and half-shouts at him, "I'm fine."

Nathan stands up again, slowly, and the principal introduces him to Jeff Williams and his mother, Nancy, who look like they've been in this position one too many times.

"They were fighting in the lunchroom twenty minutes ago," she continues, picking up a piece of paper and moving it from one side of her desk to the other, "and they're both refusing to tell me what happened."

Nathan automatically leans over so Peter can see him, gesturing at the principal. "Tell her, Pete," he says, but Peter just shifts in his chair and crosses his arms. Jeff's mother doesn't even make the effort.

"Well, if neither of them will talk, I'll have to give the maximum punishment to both," the principal says, folding her hands in front of her. "Five days suspension."

"That's outrageous!" Nathan blurts out, then realizes how unfazed Nancy Williams is and reconsiders. His stomach leaps, but he ignores it and goes ahead. "Can I have a minute alone with my brother?"

Jeff snickers, his mother shushes him again, and the principal ushers both of them out of her office and gives Nathan five minutes. He half-sits on the desk in front of Peter, who doesn't look up at him, and sticks his hands in his pockets.

"I can't say I know why you're doing this," he says, calmly, "but you need to tell her the truth, Pete."

"Since when do you care about the truth?" And he brings his hand up to his mouth, starts picking at his nails with his teeth.

Deciding a philosophical debate is not what Peter needs right now, he simply says, "Since it was going to get you suspended for five days." Then, kneeling down in front of him, one hand lightly resting on his knee and the other gently pulling his hand away at the wrist, "I don't care what happened last night, you're still my brother and I still love you. And if you didn't--"

"He called me a faggot," Peter says without looking up. "My friends, they know about you. I mean, they don't know about _you_ , but they know there's a guy. Michelle is the only one who knows, but that's because I told her about your scar, and she wasn't there this morning when they all--" He swallows, gathers himself. "Jeff was the one that sent me home with Neil. He thought it would be funny if he paid a bunch of football players to get me drunk and seduce me. He--he must have overheard something I said this morning and he must have seen you when you came on Monday, and just assumed. He's been calling me a faggot all day. I just got so--so _fucking_ mad at him, so I punched him." He sighs, as if he hasn't talked for that long in years. He pulls his hand away, and only then does Nathan realize he's been holding it all this time.

"You need to tell her, Pete," Nathan repeats, standing up, pretending his heart isn't in his throat. "I mean, not everything. But you need to tell her." Just when he thinks he's going to have to come up with something horrendous to punish his little brother with, Peter nods and says, "Okay."

So the other three come back in and Peter tells how Jeff called him names and of course, Jeff denies it. Peter says he can prove it and they call three of his friends down to the office and the principal asks them questions outside. Nathan stands behind Peter's chair, and notices a big ring with a red stone on Jeff's little finger.

"Nice ring," he says, nodding at it.

"Thanks," Jeff says, confused.

"I got into a fight with a guy with rings once," he says, running his thumb along his jaw. "Didn't really end well."

"Guess it runs in the family then," Jeff says, and then no one says anything until the principal comes back in.

"Well," she says, "seems your story checks out, Mr. Petrelli. I'm still going to have to give you two days' suspension for throwing the first punch, but thank you for being honest." She smiles, a little severely, and sends the two of them out into the main office, where Nathan will have to sign something saying he knows Peter's suspended and that he'll do something to correct the problem. He flirts with the secretary briefly while she makes a copy of the paperwork for them to take home, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches Peter shifting his weight from one foot to the other and it makes his teeth hurt when he smiles.

Peter has to stop at his locker, get some books and his jacket. Nathan stands behind him, awkwardly looking around the hallway. It hasn't really changed much in ten years. Just as the lock clicks open, a boy comes walking down the hall saying, "Hey Pete, you goin' home?"

"Yeah," Peter says, glancing at him and smiling a little sheepishly. "Got suspended."

The boy leans against the locker next to Peter's, totally ignoring Nathan. "Man, that sucks. How long?"

"Two days. But I think Williams got more."

"Yeah, he deserves it. Well, I'll try and do the best I can to fill your shoes."

"Yeah, thanks."

"I gotta get back to class. See you Monday."

"See you," Peter says, and when the boys is out of earshot, to Nathan, "That's Tommy. He's my backup for Benvolio."

"In English class, right," Nathan says, remembering their conversation from last week that seems like a lifetime and a half ago.

"Drama class, actually," Peter says, slamming his locker shut and slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

"Oh," Nathan says stupidly, and follows Peter outside. They get to the subway station and he says, "Well, I should get back to work."

"Yeah." Peter rubs his nose.

And then something in Nathan's brain clicks that his brother is more important than a pile of contracts, no matter what his deadline is. "Oh, fuck it," he mumbles, and starts down the stairs. After a moment, Peter follows him.

He doesn't have his Metrocard on him, so Peter swipes his twice. He lets Peter find a seat for them, though the train is strangely empty, even for twelve-noon on a Wednesday. Peter sits cross-legged, plays with a loose thread at the bottom of one pant leg; Nathan sprawls out next to him. It's been a while since he's been on the subway, especially with this much room.

"So," he ventures once they start moving, "what did you tell Michelle about my scar?" He's been itching to ask, but didn't feel it was appropriate until now.

Without looking up from his lap, Peter says, "Told her you had it. Told her how you got it. Told her how you lie about it because you're afraid it's going to embarrass me."

"It doesn't?" Nathan had always thought he was protecting his little brother from certain humiliation by saying he got it in a bar fight. "I just thought--"

"I still feel bad about it, but I was seven. It was a long time ago."

"Yeah," Nathan says, "yeah, it was." Then, after clearing his throat, "So I can tell people I fell out of a tree trying to build you a treehouse that one summer and you won't hate me for a week?"

"You can tell people whatever the hell you want," Peter says, bitingly, then turns his body slightly away from Nathan, still paying very close attention to that loose thread. Nathan takes that as he cue to shut the hell up, and they don't talk again until they get home.

*

When they walk in the front door (first Nathan, then Peter), Heidi comes out of the foyer, looking travel-weary and a little confused.

"What are you boys doing home?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Nathan says. "Weren't you going to stay for the day?"

"Yes, well, apparently _Rebecca_ gave me the wrong date, the shower is next week," she says, emphasizing her younger sister's name with annoyance. Then, noticing Peter's black eye, voice filled with concern, "Oh my God, Peter, are you all right?"

"He got in a fight," Nathan says, moving between them slightly. "I was just bringing him home."

"Oh, well, let's get you cleaned up, honey," she says, starting to usher Peter inside the house.

"No no, it's fine, I'll do it," Nathan says, stopping her with one hand.

"But aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"It's okay," he says with a hand on Peter's shoulder. "You finish unpacking."

He takes Peter into the downstairs bathroom, and sits him down while he rummages for neosporin and a cotton ball and a bandaid. He wets down the cotton ball with disinfectant, then squats down so he's eye-level with Peter.

"This might sting a little," he warns, and dabs at the shallow cut on Peter's cheek. Peter flinches but doesn't make a sound. "There," he says as covers the rawest part with the bandaid and throws away the packaging, "good as new."

Peter starts to get up, but Nathan gently pushes him back down. Like so many times over the last two days, something has just come into his thoughts, and if he doesn't say it now, he may never get a chance to again.

"Peter, I wanted to ask you something." He leans against the sink with one hand. "I was going to yesterday but you ran out on me before I could." He tries to smile at his own clever little white lie, but Peter's face says it wasn't funny at all, so he lets it go. "You know Heidi and I are getting married."

"Yeah," Peter says, and rubs away something invisible next to his new bandaid.

"And I know--it takes a lot of gall for me to ask this now, but I--" He takes a deep breath, then before he can stop himself, "I was wondering if you'd be my best man."

Peter looks up, slightly bewildered.

"I mean, you can say no. I would understand if you said no--"

"Why would I say no?" Peter asks quietly, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Nathan's eyes go wide, and his heart nearly skips a beat. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean--" he shrugs one shoulder "--I'm still your brother, right?"

"Yeah," Nathan says, his face splitting into a grin, "yeah." And then he starts laughing, a little breathlessly and in the back of his throat, and Peter can't help but smile, too.

"Yeah," he says, even though he doesn't need to, "I'll do it."

And before he can think, Nathan cups Peter's jaw in both his hands and kisses him, full on the mouth. It's not a _hello_ kiss and it's not one of those kisses from yesterday, but it's somewhere in between, somewhere that's neither here nor there, and before he can figure out what that comfortable feeling in his chest is, it's over. They aren't apart for more than thirty seconds when someone blocks the light from the hall.

"Is everything all right in here?" Heidi says from the doorway with a smug look on her face. They both just stare at her for a second, and it's Peter that speaks first.

"Yeah," he says, grinning, "yeah, we're just fine."

Nathan looks up at her, still feeling a little giddy. "Pete's going to be my best man."

"Oh, that's fantastic!" she says, and leans over to kiss Peter on the cheek, then holds out her hand to help him. "Let's go make some cookies or something, c'mon."

"Cookies?" Nathan says skeptically as he follows them out of the bathroom.

"What, a man can't make cookies with his future sister-in-law?" Peter teases when they all arrive in the kitchen.

"Stop it, you're making me jealous," Nathan says, and they smile at each other briefly but knowingly.

"You go and be a good little lawyer and maybe we'll save some for you," Heidi singsongs, searching for mixing bowls and flour.

"All right." He walks over to Peter and hooks an arm around his neck and looks right into his eyes. "Don't think this gets you off the hook," he says quietly.

Peter nods. "Yeah, I know."

"Just be glad Mom and Dad aren't home," he teases.

He walks away and trails his hand along Peter's shoulders, and Peter smiles at him, and he gets that same feeling in his chest he had in the bathroom. And as he stands outside in the harsh February midday sun, trying to flag down a cab, he realizes that's what finally coming home feels like.


End file.
